


Of Red Roses and White Lillies

by rei_ri



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hanahaki Disease, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Possible Character Death, RPF, Unrequited Love, all the unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 22:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_ri/pseuds/rei_ri
Summary: ha·na·ha·ki:[hah/nah/hah/kee](hana: flowers, haki: to discard)adjectiveA disease in which unrequited love causes a flower to grow in an infected person’s lungs. This flower will eventually suffocate the victim, unless the love is returned or the flower is removed.  Removal of the flower will cause the feelings of love to vanish.“My little sister was hospitalized after catching Hanahaki Disease.”





	Of Red Roses and White Lillies

There is no way to tell if you have Hanahaki Disease until you are coughing up blossoms. Amanda had gotten it. A little girl who I had tutored in English. Her family had no money for surgery. When I was in 6th grade, she died. Elementary school is far too young to die. But love doesn’t know how to discriminate.

Lily didn’t sweep into my world like a storm. She had simply been a presence in my life for years, one that happened to change. And that, that had been sudden. Backstage, pressed up against her, feeling nerves that were more than stage fright. Not that I understood the gravity of the situation. I still mourned Amanda, but I had never considered all the time I spent in close proximity. Not until I was bent over a sink, coughing up petals. They weren’t lilies, in the end. The were roses, as crimson as the blood that accompanied them. Requited love wasn’t an option; not when the flowers blossomed for somebody who was ace/aro. In 7th grade, the flower was removed from my chest. By 8th grade, I had transferred schools, just to make sure I couldn’t fall for her again. But once you had it, it was always there.

I made friends at my new school. I made nothing but friends. That was my saving grace. I didn’t fall for anyone in my life. Even then, the disease would not leave me alone. It didn’t come in the form of a relapse. It came in the form of one of my best friends, begging me to hide the blood stained petals. Blue lotuses that bloomed for a boy several years older than her. She got the flower removed, but unlike me, she stayed. I did not.

It wasn’t really running away. My father had been offered a summer job in California. I followed him, desperate for a break from my life. That was a mistake. All of my fail safes boiled down to making sure I didn’t come into contact with people I could fall in love with. California was new people. New people were variables.

Mari wasn’t even from California, and that was almost amusing in itself. She had traveled here as an escape, just like I had. Of course I found her interesting. The Brazilian girl with blue hair who had fascinations with many of the same things I did. I have a tendency to be overemotional. I would care too quickly, too heavily. Even having her, a friend in this place so far from home, was enough for my attention starved heart.

It was lilies, this time. Or at least, they bore that name. White calla lilies that got discarded on trips into the mountains. The first one had appeared on my birthday. Within several weeks, I was on a plane back home. I still hadn’t told anyone. I hoped that if I didn’t see her, my affection would fade away. But hope has never served me well. I came down with a fever, that I still had when school started. I passed it off as a cold that I could have caught in the airport. The petals were harder to hide.

I found her again. Not in real life, but over the internet. She had social media, and was happy to reconnect with a friend. That was a mistake. The petals increased, and eventually turned into whole flowers. I didn’t know how to hide them any more.

I came home yesterday to my mother and father, standing with a doctor and a box full of bloody calla lilies. I was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery, but the flower is very well developed. They doctors tell me they don’t know if it will be successful. If it fails, I’m not sure I care anymore. Lily’s roses, and Mari’s calla lilies. A life without love is a half-life, at best. I would never want to try to make people love me either. I might not love them back. I can’t risk killing them. After all, there is no way to tell if you have Hanahaki Disease until you are coughing up blossoms.


End file.
